Inspired by Rupert Brooke
Life, Death & Myth
by Nigel Jones
I have been reading a biography of Rupert Brooke written by Nigel Jones. The biography itself, I will discuss later but it did prompt me to wonder just how well any of us could be made to look in a biography written nearly 100 years after our death.
I suspect that in many ways this electronic age is a new correspondence age and that many of us write far more as a result of having email access than ever we did before. One of the troubles with written communication whether by snail mail or email is that it is just words on paper or screen: they carry no vocal inflection, are mostly delivered with no half smile or frown to convey fully the emotion laying behind the words. Emoticons may be used by some but these may be misleading or simply overused to the point of uselessness.
Extracts from our letters published after our death may give a wholly misleading view of opinions, beliefs, sense of humor, knowledge, intelligence to name but a few possibilities without either our own or our correspondent's commentary on the nature and content of the letters. It may well be argued that it is the biographer's art to unravel true themes, feelings and so forth from reading a wide selection of our correspondence. Nevertheless, it bothers me not a little that words I intended to be ironic were subsequently interpreted literally, or that a letter written for a recipient known to hold certain views and angled accordingly to keep the peace might be construed as wholly representing my beliefs. Of course, you may cry, if you write the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth you will never experience these problems. True, but human nature is rarely so upright and I certainly do not claim to be. I suspect I am not alone.
In Brooke's case, he died young and so his letters represent a distinct phase in his life: adolescence and early adulthood. I don't know if any of the girls I wrote to in my teen years have held on to my letters, I hope not, but if they have, there would be a body of correspondence covering if not the seven ages of man, at least four and a half of them and provide, I hope, a balanced perspective. Brooke's does not.
I am glad to say that it appears remote that a biographer would have the slightest interest in my rather dull and ordinary life. Somehow, that makes me feel better, not for me the concern of writing or acting especially for my biography unlike most of the politicians of the day who seem to speak with at least half an eye on future biography opportunities.
But to return to the biography that sparked this musing, I have not read another biography of Brooke and cannot compare and contrast. I had a vague knowledge of the man, a recollection that his sexuality was ambivalent and that he was used as an icon for recruitment following his untimely death in 1915. I knew his poetry, considered some to be excellent but most to be rather less so.
I came to the biography then, with little pre-formed opinion. I was neither sympathetic nor unsympathetic. I don't know much about Nigel Jones and have not read any of his other work. The book irritated me throughout. I am still at the end unsure as to what drove Jones to write it. It doesn't appear, at first reading, to be an admiration for the poet nor outright hostility though much is unsympathetic. Perhaps, it was intended to be a warts and all biography. In which case, I have seen many of the warts but have been left with a feeling that the warts were not the sum of Brooke.
It seems to me that there is a trend in biography that by knowing the sexual details of a life, the rest will come into focus. I am not persuaded of that but even so Brooke was no Byron and it seems strange that so much of the book should discuss his few sexual encounters or his efforts to avoid them. So, in each chapter there are substantial extracts from his voluminous correspondence with the 'loves' of his life, especially Ka Cox and Noel Olivier much of which adds relatively little to our knowledge of Brooke. Fewer extracts chosen from varying troubled and settled times of his life would have sufficed, I feel.
Detail that would certainly have been more interesting to me was omitted. For example, we first learn of a friendship with John Masefield:
"So,
he reached for the next link in the chain on which he hung over the abyss.
This was Rectory Farm, near Great Hampden in the Chilterns, the home of
the poet John Masefield and his wife Constance."
The text that returns to the subject of Brooke's letters to and from Noel Olivier and we are told nothing of the visit nor how and when Brooke and Masefield came to be acquaintances or friends. As they would become fellow Georgians later, an understanding of the nature and length of their relationship would surely have been appropriate.
The prose becomes quite purple at times, worthy of a bodice ripper!
"like a dog returning to its vomit" for example.
There is a clear tone of criticism of Brooke in commenting on many of the letter extracts. There is far less regarding Brooke's attractive personality. Petulant, he may have been but he was able to generate immense loyalty and support in his friends. This aspect of the man is far less dealt with than incessant complaining of his writing with professions of love to various women. It should be recalled that Brooke was in his early twenties for most of the period during which he wrote these letters, he was neither the first nor the last to endeavor to keep several potential loves 'warm'.
The great philosopher, Bertrand Russell had met Brooke on a number of occasions and after his death wrote to his mistress, Ottoline Morrell following the publication of Eddie Marsh's official biography of Brooke in 1918:
" Rupert himself loved life and the world - his hatreds were very concrete, resulting from some quite specific vanity or jealousy, but in the main he found the world lovable and interesting. There was nothing of humbug in him."
Russell would have known much of the storms of Brooke's life through his association with Lady Ottoline who had an affair with Brooke's nemesis Henry Lamb and was a member of the Bloomsbury set that Brooke came to hate. His balanced perspective is, therefore, valuable and I truly wish there had been more in the book I have just read.
Jones complains further regarding Brooke's misogyny and his anti-Semitism. In respect of the latter, Jones admits that superficial anti-Semitism was common to the age and we are given few examples to justify the criticism and those he does supply seem little more than throwaway lines in keeping with the age rather than deep-seated beliefs. In saying this, I am not attempting to excuse any form of racial abuse, which I abhor, but simply to highlight that the supplied evidence seems to do no more than make Brooke typical of his age.
The complaint of misogyny may be more valid. Some of his letters do include elements that would be considered most patronizing today. Yet, even then, we must recall that women had not yet been given the vote in Britain and there would still be a sizeable minority that would have agreed with Brooke's views on women. It is the lack of real perspective for these issues that I think Mr. Jones fails to convey.
The book has ultimately left me dissatisfied and wanting more, especially to understand more of the man that was able to inspire devotion in so many. I do not believe that this would have been from his good looks alone.
I quote from
Rupert Brooke,
Life Death & Myth
Published in the UK by Richard Cohen Books
Available at Amazon.com and Amazon.co.uk
And
The Autobiography
of Bertrand Russell 1914 - 1944
Published in the UK by George Allen and Unwin
(presently out of print)